


The Story of Sorul Khazzur-kammim

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, Multi-Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2007-09-21
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes about the life and actions of Sorul Khazzur-kammim throughout the 2nd, 3rd and mayeb 4th age.  I think this is classed as AU coz its an original character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mother

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Sorul's life was one of complexity, confusion and anger, so to tell explain it to you as best I can, I shall start with the story of Gwendyll of the Noldor.  
  
Seven to the dwarf lords, nine to the kings of men... you know how it goes. It was around 1700 in the 2nd Age when Sauron overran Eriador. Our story begins in Lindon, when two orcs capture a beautiful prize for their raids in the northwest, a blood relative of Galadriel, Lady of Light. Gwendyll was her name.  
  
Through selfishness and strife amongst their own kin, the two orcs found themselves being chased into the mountains of Ered Luin, not too eager to share their prize among the rest of the horde of Sauron's minions. Hanging over the shoulder of one orc, Gwendyll spent days, barely able to sleep, the grip of fear tight. Never had she been this deep in a cave. Even now her eyes and ears were better than any mortals, but the elves rely on the living things around them to augment their senses, here she felt deaf and blind.  
  
The orcs finally lost the others some twenty days in, finding a hidden path that maintain a steep descent into the foundations of Arda. For some strange reason, the orcs hardly stopped moving, only stopping for brief rest and food before moving on down the lifeless path. But the path was not lifeless after another week.  
  
It was around now that Gwendyll was rescued by a creature she did not believe to have existed. A drow. So strange they were, yet familiar at the same time. With the exception of red eyes, white hair and dark skin, drow looked very much like their surface counterparts. But Gwendyll was soon to understand that drow represented the very opposite of what elves stood for, in every way.  
  
Treacherous. That word would sum it up nicely. Society ran on station and class. There was ranking among the many subterranean settlements, and ranking among the houses in each city, rank based on economic, political and military influence. This led to house-on-house assassinations and civil wars. Even the drow in each house are ranked among themselves, based on very much a similar criteria. The very foundation of drow life is built on stabbing another in the back to gain station.  
  
As luck would have it, this particular drow was very different from the rest. Sorul was his name. Sorul Khazzur-kammim. Sorul was the exception to the rule. It was in fact his kind manner that was made Gwendyll think all drow were so, but she quickly realized that this was not the case. Upon their arrival to his home, Naggaroth, he had claimed she was not his prisoner and therefore she would not have to go through the motions. She stayed with him and he treated her like a queen. Every night, they talked about life above and below the surface, and the two got ever closer. But still, Gwendyll knew her place was not here. She had barely left his house, and rightly so, the looks and comments she recieved particularly from the males.  
  
For his part, Sorul had forgotten himself, and how she had come to be here. He was happy, for the first time in his long life. Here had found someone he could speak to freely, without any care for what may slip off the tongue. Who he could watch do the simplest of things, and find it beautiful. He loved her.  
  
But it was not to be, and harsh society outisde Sorul's four walls managed to flood in and destroy everything. Sorul was out at the time, when Akgar and Imbros broke into the house. As he walked down the torch lit streets of Naggaroth, Sorul felt his gut wrench. Something terrible was about to happen. Bursting through the doorm, sword in hand, his face was a picture of fury as he lunged forward and decaptiated Akgar. Imbros jumped up and looked in time to see a blade plunge into his face. On the floor lay Gwendyll crying silently.  
  
*  
  
"My eyes decieve me, what a sight," Sorul gasped as he looked up at the sky and stars for the first time ever.  
  
Gwendyll smiled, standing next to the drow and sharing in the admiration. Countless times she had watched the stars yet she never grew tired of it. Finally they both looked at eachother, sharing an expression of sorrow and regret.  
  
"I wish you could stay up here."  
  
"Me too, but the suns light will burn my eyes. I..." Sorul sighed and placed a hand over his heart. "I am sorry, Gwendyll."  
  
Gwendyll gave him a hug. "It was not your fault."  
  
*  
  
Gwendyll struck north to Mithlond, luckily her journey was without event, though she strangly held no more fear for orcs. Her fear had been replaced with a sorrow, one that could never die. It was Cirdan who arranged the the escort to Imladris, and there Elrond half-elven, a lord of the surviving Noldor, heard her story. So many moons later, Gwendyll gave birth to a son. His hair was thick and white like snow. His eyes, blood red, and his skin was a dark brown. Gwendyll looked in the blood red eyes of her son, and relived the painful memory of her attack. With all her will, she managed to force a little happiness and took a moment to compose herself before saying:  
  
"His name will be Sorul... like his father."


	2. The Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of vignettes about the life and actions of Sorul Khazzur-kammim throughout the 2nd, 3rd and mayeb 4th age. I think this is classed as AU coz its an original character.

"Why is he crying?"  
  
"It's his eyes... The sunlight burns them... I should have known."  
~  
Inside, all the time. Shuttered windows. Alone. Everyone is different. Even my mother......................... I am different.  
~  
"I want to go and play outisde."  
  
"Sorul, you know what happens when you go out in the day."  
  
"Grrrrr."  
~  
"Sorul."  
  
Sorul looked up from the book he was reading. It seemed all he did was read. Just the other day, Sorul had gone outside to face his enemy, the sun, and for three long hours, he forced himself to stay put, trying his best to look around and take in the views of 'nice weather.' Of course the trip resulted in the young lad being found in the garden on the floor, writhing in agony with his hands covering his eyes.  
  
Sorul was only young but he knew there was something strange about the way his mother looked at him. He could not describe the quiet discomfort he always got. Even when she smiled, her eyes didn't.  
  
"I have brought some children to meet you."  
  
Sorul's face was a potent mix of suprise, fear and happiness. The three elflings walked in, two boys and a girl. Sorul froze, staring at them apprehensively. All three stared back.  
  
"Thoneluil here..." Gwendyll placed her hand lightly on the elflings shoulder. "...likes that card game I taught you."  
  
Sorul nodded stupidly slow, his shoulders relaxing slightly at the mention of cards. Finally someone else to play against. Maybe they were the same skill level, they could practise against eachother everyday, and...  
  
"Hello," Thoneluil spoke.  
  
The other two raised a hand in greeting and Sorul copied.  
  
"Well, I'll leave you to play. No mischief."  
  
There was that smile again. That look. She left sight and Sorul turned his attention to the three elflings who walked up boldly, Sorul already reaching over and getting his pack of cards.  
  
"So, where did you come from?" Thoneluil asked, a slight note in his voice warned ill intent.  
  
Sorul came to sit straight up again, cards in hand, then considered the question innocently before replying, "Here... Imladris."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
The girl snickered and hit her friend lightly for the last word, Sorul subconsciously fiddling with the deck in his hand.  
  
"Why do you look so strange?"  
  
Sorul wanted to say that he didn't look strange, but it was up for debate. All the time would he ask his mother about his father, and always would it lead to Gwendyll's departure, only curt, and vague answers given.  
  
"My father is an underground elf."  
  
"Underground?! Have you ever been in a cave before?" another chimed in.  
  
"Erm, no," replied Sorul, steadily growing more uncomfortable with this barrage of questions.  
  
"Why aren't you underground with your father then?"  
  
"I... I don't.... know," Sorul managed to say, the information being for himself as much as the three elflings.  
  
"Your eyes are creepy."  
  
Sorul looked away from the young elleth, resting his gaze on another before looking down to his feet. Suddenly it came to him, what his mother had said. Elves can't see very well in the dark!  
  
"I can see in the dark," the young half-drow blurted out. "I bet you can't."  
  
All three regarded him with disgust... perhaps a little envy.  
  
"That's horrible, who would want to see in the dark. Normal elves sleep at that time, dark elf."  
  
"My name is Sorul," Sorul said firmly, stnading up with his fist clenched tight.  
  
"Dark elf, dark elf, hides away in the shadows." Started by one, but other two joining in, all three elflings marched out to the tune, leaving Sorul standing there shaking visibly.  
  
Looking down at the deck of cards firmly in the grasp of his right hand, he threw them as hard as he could at the wall and then dived onto his bed, crying into his pillow.  
~  
"Mother, I promise, I was fine today, it doesn't hurt anymore."  
  
"Ok then... I will talk to Lord Elrond about you studying in school."  
  
"With other elves?"  
  
"...Yes, Sorul."  
~  
I cannot bear it much longer. Each passing day he grows ever the picture of his father. Having to look that horrid man in the face again. Imbros. I cannot and so I am tortured with his face everyday. A loveless child, Valar forgive me... but it is true.  
~  
"But I want to learn to fight aswell."  
  
"Now Sorul..."  
  
"Fenwyn is younger than me!"  
  
"Sorul Khazzur-kammim, I will not have you shouting."  
  
"Fine! I will teach myself!"  
  
*  
  
"It would be best to let him join in the more physical education."  
  
"He needs one on one tuition... for all his subjects. He is not coping well with the other children."  
  
"But he will not accept it. He wants to be with others, regardless of how they treat him."  
  
"It is for his own good... I will be his personal tutor."  
  
"Very well, Berensul."


	3. The Passing of Ages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of vignettes about the life and actions of Sorul Khazzur-kammim throughout the 2nd, 3rd and mayeb 4th age. I think this is classed as AU coz its an original character.

Sorul grew slowly but surely came of age and the only one to guide him was Berensul. Most of Sorul's time was spent with Berensul, the half-drow even managing to turn Berensul a little more nocturnal than was normal.  
  
Though it was a rough beginning by any relationship's standards. Berensul, a disciplined professor and a veteran soldier, would not stand for the tantrums that the confused child would throw. When Sorul realised that he had to get along with the elf, things became much easier and to Sorul's delight, it was much better than being in the school with others his age. Berensul treated him as if he were an full blooded elf. There was not a single time when Berensul brought up the matter of his heritage, Sorul was always the first make mention, and more importantly, Berensul treated him with respect and not pity. The two became good friends as Sorul grew.  
  
Though life was stil hard for the half-drow, after the many painful trips to the infirmary, Sorul had managed to train his eyes to cope with sunlight. Sorul, being somewhat of an insomniac, was up all night aswell as all day, when about the valley of Imladris, he would often catch people looking at him as if - to put in Sorul's own words - 'he has two heads.' The decades upon decades of being an outcast had hardened his heart to stone. Not many saw much emotion from the half-drow, his face, grim, stern and unreadable, even when alone. Soemtimes he would see Thoneluil and others he once went to school with. The thing was, Sorul had grown suprisingly broad aswell as tall in his age. Along with his unorthodox appearance and unique heritage, he was quite an intimidating person. Even still, the rejection was painful. All Sorul's anger was vented through his fighting. Hours and hours of practise everyday, hand-to-hand, swords, it didn't matter. His ability as an all-round ranger has been the topic of many a conversation in all parts of Imladris. Scouting and tracking, stealth, hunting... from his first venture out he was above and beyond a few scout captains. Berensul once watched as, undercover of darkness, Sorul picked off two-dozen orcs. Not even the last orc standing had any clue of Sorul's constantly moving location.  
  
But I digress... as usual...  
  
Sorul argued and argued his case to join the Last Alliance in their march on Mordor, but there was no use, Elrond would not allow it. Why, Berensul did not know. It was definatley not any of the many reasons the half-elven lord had come up with. The massive argument came to a grinding halt with Sorul proclaiming that he will never fight for the good of the elves, and that's where it ended.  
  
Much to the suprise of many, Sorul stayed in Imladris throught the climactic end of the 2nd Age. There was only one thing keeping him there... Berensul. His only friend and mentor had gone to battle, and Sorul prayed to the Valar that he would return alive. I personally would bet that if Sorul had the opportunity to choose between Berensul's return, or, the defeat of Sauron, the half-drow would choose the former. But I don't like to assume... erm, anyway...  
  
When the free peoples of Middle earth return to their homes, Sorul was destroyed to find that his teacher would not return. As the 3rd Age began, Sorul's head was in dire straits. And if things couldn't get any worse, Gwendyll had departed for Mithlond, and then sailed over the sea ot Aman. Not even a good-bye for her son, who now had no one. Still, he remained grim, stern and unreadable, his reserve only breaking for matters that required anger or scorn. He became much trouble for Imladris and Elrond made his best efforts to keep Sorul out of the valley. Constant scouting trips, and orc-hunting. Sorul evetnually got the picture and disappeared from his scouting group one night.  
  
From then on Arnor was his oyster, so to speak. He roamed the whole lands over and over, traversing mountain, earth and water. Once lesser men had settled in Bree, it became an especially appealing place for Sorul, for it was there that he found his love for pipeweed. Plus, men's ale tasted much better than elvish wine. It was around this time - 1300's - that Sorul made one of his rare visits to his home.  
  
Of course there was no celebration of his return, but he was free to come and go, and that is what he did. He met Gandlaf the Grey, one of the Istari sent over to balance the forces of good and evil. It was not a long conversation but the old wizard seemed not to be like elves, and so that was good enough. It was also this particular time that had him wander into what was now the private gardens of Elrond's daughter, Arwen.  
  
Sorul was paused midstep as he set eyes on her. His heart pounded and his knees were weak. She was beautiful. With a voice to match. Sorul drifted off in a haze as he watched her sing. Sensing another presence, she span around with a smile on her face but it was soon drowned in horror as she met the blood red eyes of Sorul. At that moment, Sorul felt like a deer caught in the headlights, his stern, cold barrier was dropped and he felt again, exactly how he felt when he was first branded with the name 'Dark Elf.' Suddenly guards came rushing in and seized Sorul, who's face turned to rage. Attacking the closest elf, he tried to escape but was quickly apprehended and after a commotion, Sorul was sent away from Imladris.  
  
It was as if the evil that slept in Sorul's heart had awoken. It was the only explanation for his desicion to go north. No more than a week's travel had found him within plain sight of Angmar, home of the Witch King. Perhaps it was curiosity or maybe there was other things at work, but Sorul marched onward, and as if expecting him, the Witch King soon appeared, a rabbles of orcs, making themselves known in the vicintiy.  
  
Even to this day, Sorul has never spoke of what words passed between himself and the Lord of the Nazgul. Sorul returned from the south, and under cover of darkness, the drow effortlessly made his way, unseen and unheard, to Imladris. His hybrid blood gave him the superior skills he needed to make his way throguh the valley and all the way to Lord Elrond's bedroom. But in the last moments, with Elrond at his mercy, he cried out and threw the Morgul blade, sending it plunging into the stout, wooden door.  
  
Sorul was banished from Imladris and all elven realms forever.  
  
*  
  
"If he was truly evil he would have killed you," Gandalf offered, stood at the window, looking out onto the beautiful valley of Imladris.  
  
Elrond ceased rubbing his temples and opened his eyes, giving Gandlaf a not-too-convinced look. "He could become a powerful enemy, Gandalf."  
  
Gandalf however, looked a little more optimistic and shook his head. "He will be fine, Elrond. I will watch over him."


	4. Important Desicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of vignettes about the life and actions of Sorul Khazzur-kammim throughout the 2nd, 3rd and mayeb 4th age. I think this is classed as AU coz its an original character.

Foresight. Not in abundance, and not to be controlled, Sorul did indeed inherit this gift from his mother, and it came to him as it pleased.  
  
Since his excommunication from elven society, Sorul Khazzur-kammim had spread from Arnor and now began to explore all regions of Middle earth. With exceptional ability as a stealthy ranger, there were very few who caught sight of Sorul without his permission. And this, coupled with his insomnia, made travelling a very easy thing. In the centuries that led up to The War of the Ring, Sorul had managed to covered the entirety of Middle earth, including the regions of Rhun and Far Harad, where he made aquaintence with some of the desert tribe's leaders.  
  
Occasionally he would find Gandalf on one of his many wanderings, and they would have each other's company for a day or so, before both going their seperate ways once more. Gandalf reminded Sorul very much of Berensul. The wizard always spoke to Sorul without any acknowledgement to his kin or appearance, and in honesty, this was all Sorul had wanted since being a child. Still this desire to be accepted lurked in his heart and kept him moody and grim, but there was no reversing what had been already done.  
  
One of the half-drow's favourite spots to be was the high pass over the Misty Mountains. Soemtimes he would stay there for weeks, until finally he would get the reward he had been waiting for: A glimpse of Arwen Undomiel. Elrond's daughter would regularly go and see her grandparents, Celeborn and Galdriel. It was a big risk for Sorul, Arwen's escort ordered to kill anything of a threat to her. It was two of Rivendell's finest scouts, twin-brothers Elladen and Elrohir who first detected a presence among them each time they rode with Arwen to Lothlorien, but neither of the brothers, nor any other elf, was good enough to even lay eyes on Sorul, and so, despite suspicion, no one could prove it was Sorul who was watching them.  
  
Coming back to foresight... In 2931 of the 3rd Age, Aragorn II was born. This triggered Sorul's foresight and he saw images of what would be the end of the 3rd Age. Although it was clear through the numerous dreams that there were many a path the future could take, there seemed only one path that would have the race of men come out on top of Sauron.  
  
There was no place for half-drows over the sea. Sorul was bound to the fate of Middle earth. If Sauron suceeded in his quest for world domination, then Sorul would inevitably die anyway. Sorul decided that hatred for the elves was not good enough to sit back and do nothing. The time for choosing a side was now.  
  
***  
  
In the desolate lands of Tharbad, but a mile from the Old south road, Aragorn was being ever-so subtley disturbed from his sleep. A presence nearby. He must wake and find out what it is. So stupid he would be to risk his own precious life and the fate of the free peoples.  
  
Peeking one eye open, his other soon shot open to as he saw the head of snow-white hair. Sat on the branch, but an inch from the feet of the future king, Sorul watched the surround non-chalantly. Aragorn simply watched Sorul. It was clear this creature did not intend to harm him, or he would have already. The young man of thirty had learned a little about 'Dark Elf' from his education in Rivendell, but mostly from Gandalf, who always claimed that Sorul was not as bad as everyone makes out.  
  
"A quiet night," Sorul spoke finally, maintaining his focus on the watch.  
  
Inclining his head in leiu of agreement, Aragorn joined the half-drow in the watch, making no attempt to break the resume of silence.  
  
"Aragorn, son of Arathorn." Aragorn looked at him in alarm and Sorul waved a hand dismissively. "Have no fear of unwelcome ears. We are alone for at least a mile all around. If you knew my name, you would know to have confidence in what I say."  
  
Sorul pulled out his pipe and quickly had the small bowl on the end smoking steadily. Aragorn took the small pouch that the half-drow handed to him.  
  
"It is Treshlan leaf... from the far reaches of the desert. Not even Old Toby compares. You should head to Harad on your travels. Experience with the Southrons would prove invaluable on your path."  
  
Aragorn did not answer, but nodded, then filled his own pipe and lit it.  
  
"What brings you to Tharbad, Master Sorul?"  
  
There was a slight pause. Aragorn could not know how well-informed Sorul was about the goings on in Middle earth. This was thanks mostly to Gandlaf, who spoke freely to Sorul whenever he saw him.  
  
"Ah, so you do know my name," Sorul said, something akin to a smile on his lips briefly before he took a draw of his pipe. "I have come to have a look at you. You are to be king one day, save Middle earth." It seemed as if the drow was to say more, but he paused. "I merely wanted to lay eyes on the man who is to accomplish such feats. See for myself, what all the fuss is about."  
  
"And do you have a verdict?" Aragorn asked playfully, a few draws on his pipe had mellowed him considerably. It was good weed. Very good, in fact.  
  
"You will do," Sorul replied after a time, before making eye contact with Aragorn and sharing a grin.  
  
A long smoke and chat, led to the unveiling of brandy, and the two sat in the tree and talked all night, getting to know one another and sharing much jest. Aragorn awoke the next day at noon, feeling not too great after the flask of brandy and high-quality pipeweed. Sorul was nowhere to be found, but Aragorn would never forget the words that had come from a drunken half-drow:  
"I pledge my allegiance to you, Aragorn. By my life or death, I will protect Middle earth, until your time comes............... But repeat these words to anyone, and your time will never come... for I will cut it short."  
  
***  
  
The last few days had been hard, though the Mirkwook scouting party knew this would be the case. Their mission had brought them north of home to the top of the Misty Mountains, then south, cleansing the mountains of orcs. Here, with the Lorien forest almost in sight, the night settled in and the orcs were once more ready for combat.  
  
Over one hundred orcs showed up last night, and the one before. The scouting party had begun fifty strong, but recent casualties had brought their number down to twenty five. Their was little chance of survival tonight.  
  
Orcs began flooding from the caves about them and the party was quick to respond, each archer hitting with perfect accuracy. Their only choice was to fall back into the corner of high, solid rock with no means of escape. On the high ground, the elves picked off orc after orc, but arrows were steadily depleting and the orc advance could not be slowed. Very shortly the elves plunged into melee combat, orcs still coming out of the cave to increase the odds for themselves. The superior fighting skills of the sindar made sure they did not lose any elf on a whim. Not until toil had set did the orcs manage to fell a warrior, but the orcs were relentless, not even an hour of darkness had passed, and all escape routes were blocked off.  
  
*  
  
Legolas spun out of harms way and then puncture his adversary's neck with the one long knife he had in his grip. In the other hand was his bow, and when he could, he would let an arrow sing, but this was not a regular thing.  
  
The young prince did not know whether he was the first to notice a dark figure that stood on the cliff edge, high up to the left, but whatever it was, it had just set alight to something. The flame then sailed down through the air and thats when Legolas saw the it was a cloth that was alight. A cloth which was sticking out of a bottle's neck. The bottle smashed on the ground the a large portion of orcs burst into flame at the back end of the rabble. Another flaming bottle fell, delivering equal damage to another section of the orcs. The beasts were in panic, and the dark figure began quickly descending the mountain edge, a black cloak fluttering away in the wind. It was then that Legolas, and the others, identified the newcomer. It was Dark Elf.  
  
The panic of the orcs had given Legolas the time to be stunned in this turn of events, but he quickly snapped out of it and began fighting with a renewed vigour. Fighting his way through to the newcomer, he was just in time to see an orc about to deliver an unanswered attack to Sorul's back, and in one swift stroke, Legolas pulled, drew and let fly. Sorul turned about in time to see the orc fall, he then followed the flight path to Legolas who held his gaze for a brief moment. Sorul nodded and then continued to fight, Legolas doing the same.  
  
Soon the horn of Lolthlorien sounded and from the east, reinforcements had come. The fight still lasted to the dying hours of night for the orcs had yet to fully empty out of the moutnains, but victory was soon at hand, and Legolas was smiling again. Looking about to count his own number, he realised that Sorul had disappeared.  
  
*  
  
Gloin got out of bed, pulled on some clothes and made his way to the living area of his home. It was only when he entered the room that he lit a small torch, and it then that he could see a figure sat in his chair.  
  
"By Durin's Beard! What... Who... How did get in here!?"  
  
"I walked in," Sorul said simply, the torch light glimmered offhis red eyes, unshading the potential evil that rested in his soul. "I have not come to make an enemy, Master Gloin. In these times, it is friends that are most valuable."  
  
Gloin was clenching his fists, but still too stunned to take proper action. How had anyone gotten under the Lonely Mountain, let alone in his house, without alerting the sentries. Already, guards had been alerted to Gloin's cursing and now flooded into the room. Sorul stayed calm, remaining seated, but this did nothing for his case and the guards advanced with their axes.  
  
*  
  
Sorul was imprisoned in the dungeons of Erebor for three months. Each day, he was questioned and each day his story was dismissed as lies. Sorul was a compliant prisoner, which is quite suprising after all we know about the creature. The only thing Sorul could wait for was word from Gandalf. If the wizard told them that the half-drow was indeed his friend, then perhaps they would give weight to his warnings about Balin's colony in Moria.  
  
*  
  
Sorul stared at the door when it opened to reveal Gloin and Dain. The half-drow's hair was a mess, him having cut it short numerous times with the sharpest rock to hand. He hated his hair long, he looked too much like an elf with it. Anyway, this, oddly, was the first thing Dain addressed.  
  
"I know a fine barber who can cut that for you, Master Sorul."  
  
Sorul's face was unreadable, but considerably less hostile than usual. Then he said; "I knife will be fine, thank you."  
  
*  
  
Sorul was given a full pardon from the dwarves, though Gandalf was not about. When offered a guided tour, Sorul requested that Gimli, Gloin's son, give him the tour and the young dwarf obliged, eager to help his father and King Dain apologise for the misunderstanding. Sorul once again was happy to have a chance to talk to another of future hero. But the warnings about Balin in Moria were still unheeded, Dain recieving reports about the colony just before the arrival of Sorul. Everything seemed fine, but the dwarves were grateful of Sorul's efforts anyway. As prisoner and guest in total, Sorul stayed for almost a year before departing to his new found friends.


End file.
